I Can Handle Those
by aching-for-distance
Summary: It was almost becoming a routine.


Jemma paced the cargo bay, alternately looking at her watch and then comparing it through the clock in the lab, visible through the wide glass doors. Ward, Coulson and Skye had come back from their mission as planned, but May and Fitz had dropped off the grid about an hour before and were now late returning to the bus. Very late.

Her heart sank further in her chest as the minutes ticked by, eventually joined in her silent watch by the other three, once they'd gotten cleaned up. It reminded her vividly of the way the other four had paced outside of the lab while she and Fitz worked on the anti-serum for the Chitauri virus. That had somehow miraculously not ended in her death, so she had to hope that tonight would end the same way, with Fitz and May safely back aboard the Bus.

An hour passed, then another, with Skye rambling about the stupidity of staying here and not going out looking, Ward and Coulson tossing out possible delays and Jemma's continued pacing. Then Ward shot to attention. His eyes searched the darkness outside the plane, darting back and forth as if he'd heard something but couldn't identify it.

"That's a good way to get shot." Jemma startled at the dry tone of May's voice as the Asian woman appeared at the base of the ramp. Fitz was a few steps behind her, both looking the worse for wear, filthy and bruised.

Coulson's shoulders eased as he ushered the two agents back onto the Bus amid the other's questions about where they'd been and why they didn't drive back in the SUV. Jemma tried to route them to the lab for treatment but May shook her head, "Bumps and bruises. Maybe a few cuts but nothing serious."

Jemma's focus was all for Fitz, anyway, but he agreed with May. "Le' me take a shower firs', yeah? I've go' dirt in places I don' even wan' ta think abou'." Despite his intended reassurance, Jemma didn't like the blank expression on her best friend's face.

It wasn't long before May returned to the lab for Jemma's perfunctory exam. The older agent was just as she'd claimed - a little banged up, but nothing that time wouldn't heal just fine on its own. Still, Jemma pressed a mild painkiller and muscle relaxant on May. "You may not need them right now, but you might in the morning," she pointed out reasonably.

"I can't fly the Bus with muscle relaxants in my system," May rebutted, and Jemma immediately felt silly for not thinking about that.

"Alright, point taken. Let me know if you need anything else though," the biochemist offered. May just nodded and left the lab.

Jemma puttered around, cleaning up and finishing off a report before she finally accepted that Fitz wasn't coming back downstairs. Her lips compressed for a long moment, faintly hurt that he hadn't joined her, even if he didn't need an exam. She grabbed the portable med-kit and headed for the spiral staircase, her steps purposesful.

The door to Fitz' pod was closed and it took a long moment before he called out for her to come in, but he didn't sound like she'd woken him. Indeed, when she slid open the door, there was another parallel to her experience with the Chitauri virus - he was curled on his bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. A vibrantly purple bruise marred his pale skin, disappearing under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"Fitz," she breathed out, hurrying to shut the door securely behind her. He'd always been antsy about people seeing his sweeter and more vulnerable sides and she wouldn't subject him to the team's teasing if she didn't have to.

"Knew y' woul' come lookin' for me if I waited long enough," he murmured as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She ran a hand through her dark hair, frustrated, "Why? You could have come downstairs ages ago! I was worried! Fitz!" When she turned to get a good look at him, she couldn't maintain her irritation. He looked exhausted. "Are you okay?" Jemma finally asked, her voice going soft and reflecting her concern.

Fitz shrugged, his face twisting with a wince when he did so. "I'm goin' ta feel like bloody hell in the mornin', but I'm alrigh'," he answered, but there was still something in his expression that told her things weren't right.

Jemma shook her head and reached for his arm, gently pushing up the sleeve to study the bruise. It went even further up, and she sucked in a breath, "How bad is it? Let me see." Her hands slid down to tug at the hem of his shirt until he reluctantly straightened and tugged it up over his head.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen him without his shirt. They'd spent too much time together to not have gotten a look, same as he'd unsuspectingly gotten a few flashes of her, too. Still, Fitz' cheeks flushed and Jemma gasped at the extent of the bruising. Fitz' arm, one side and most of his back were a mass of dark splotches. "Fitz! Are you sure nothing's broken? This looks terrible!" Her fingers reached unthinkingly to gently stroke over the worst of the damage on his shoulder blade and he twitched under her touch.

"Tha' hurts, Jem. Stop i'," he mumbled, nudging her hand away.

She was the one to flinch back this time. "I'm sorry. I have some arnica that will help?" Jemma offered, her voice going hesitant. This wasn't like Fitz, to be so passive and still. It was like whatever it was in him that produced all that frenetic energy and brainpower had been drained out of him.

"'S tha' the gel stuff y' were so excited abou' gettin' in th' las' shipment?" Fitz tried to sound normal, he really did, but it just came out tired and more than a little sad.

"Yes," she answered shortly, not knowing what else to say if he didn't want to talk about what happened on the mission. "Lie down and I'll put it on for you. I'll be as careful as I can." It hurt her to watch him slowly unfold from his current position and shift to stretch out on the bed, his face contorting with each move. Thankfully the bruises were up far enough that she doubted he'd cracked a rib. That didn't mean he wasn't going to be miserably sore for some time though.

Fitz knew she was being as gentle as she could, but there were more than a few times he couldn't help the hiss of pain when she rubbed that fraction too hard that changed things from uncomfortable to outright painful. She apologized each time, which twisted his heart in his chest. "Stop tha'. Is no' your faul' that I'm a mess o' bruises."

Jemma fell into silence and just bit at her lip whenever he made a noise of pain. When she was done she moved to sit at the end of the bed, her hip brushing against his shoulder.

Before he could think too hard about why it was a bad idea, Fitz slowly shifted to rest his head on Jemma's thigh, his bruised arm stretched over her legs, the other reaching to wrap around her waist until he was sort of hugging her.

She froze at his unexpected movement, her hands hovering helplessly. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him more. "Fitz?" Jemma murmured when he seemed to have settled, one hand laying over his where it had curled around her thigh, and the fingers of the other sliding into his thick curls. It was so rare for him to touch her like this that she was even more concerned. "Fitz, talk to me. Please. What happened out there?"

Fitz closed his eyes, letting the slow slide of her fingers in his hair help soothe his nerves. "I' was close, Jem. We were drivin' back t' the Bus and ou' o' nowhere May slams on the brakes and tells me t' ge' ou' o' the truck. Was a bomb stuck underneath. I don' know wha' tipped her off tha' i' was there, but she saved the both of us. The blas' knocked me back, landed on my shoulder. O' course, _she_ di' some ninja balance thing an' landed righ' back on her fee'," he added with a scowl. "My earpiece was in the truck and hers was broken in the blas', so we couldn' call an' had ta walk the res' of the way."

Her fingers closed around his where they laid on her thigh and Jemma let out a soft sound of distress that had Fitz trying to crane his head to look up at her. She shushed him though, and let out a quiet sigh. "It could have been much worse. I'm glad it's just bruises. I can handle those."

"Me too," Fitz rasped out, his voice lower than usual from being so tired. Both of them were thinking about other situations they'd been in recently where things had been far too close for comfort. It was almost becoming a routine.

He yawned widely and Jemma figured it was time for her to go. "You should get some sleep," she said, patting his hand as a gentle signal to let her up.

Fitz reluctantly withdrew, and shifted back to his own pillow while Jemma moved his phone onto the nightstand. She withdrew her own phone from her pocket. "I just turned my ringer back on. If you need me, text and I'll come right back over." She considered staying, but he needed to stay on his stomach to avoid the bruises and she'd end up blundering against them in her sleep.

"I will," he promised in a sleepy murmur. "Thanks, Jem." He was already asleep before she closed the door behind her.


End file.
